


crimson

by unicornball



Series: Colors [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-typical violence (non-graphic), Case fic (kinda), DWRColorsChallenge, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornball/pseuds/unicornball
Summary: His hand tightens on the knife's handle. This is why he hates splitting up. He fucking hates it and it always means bad shit happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Today's word:_  
>  Crimson  
> Crim·son (/ˈkrimzən/)
> 
> a strong, red color, inclining to purple
> 
> _Quite obvious where I went with this one..._
> 
> _Enjoy._

Dean whips his head around, demon knife held tightly in one hand as the other reaches out blindly in front of him. Damn witches cut the power the moment they tripped some sort of alarm sigil. It's pitch-black and he can't see a damn thing. He can hear the shuffle of feet and labored breathing but the room echoes just enough he can't pin-point where it's coming from. It could be in the same room or in the hallway.

Shit. All very not good.

He's tempted to just strike out blindly but the possibility of the noise being Sam or Cas is too much to risk.

He hopes it's Sam or Cas. Because if Dean can hear them, that means the witches and their pet werewolves can too. If it's not either of them, its too close for his peace of mind. His hand tightens on the knife's handle. This is why he hates splitting up. He fucking hates it and it always means bad shit happens.

He widens his eyes, hoping it'll help his night vision. He looks up when there's a muffled scream, the wet meaty thump of a knife stabbing into muscle followed by a heavy thud.

.

Of course he rounds the corner and runs into a werewolf. And of course the werewolf isn't at all surprised and he's narrowly avoiding being sliced in half by razor sharp claws. He ignores the hot flare of pain in his side and focuses on ganking the furry asshole snarling in his face, getting his silver knife out and in a furry chest just in time to avoid a neck-full of teeth.

He cocks an ear, listening. He doesn't hear anything and he slumps against the wall.

"Son of a bitch," he groans, pressing his hand to the wound. It's bleeding pretty bad and stings like a mother, but he increases the pressure. He looks up at the sudden sound of scuffling feet and sees Sam grappling with the other werewolf, the pair of them practically falling into the room in a tangle of flailing limbs. It's snarling and snapping at Sam, eyes practically glowing with rage.

He grimaces when Sam gets thrown into him, keeling over under Sam's weight and grunting with a fresh burst of pain. He tries to move, get to his feet to help, but his knees give out on him and he lands on his ass with a low pained groan.

Sam is quick to stir and reaches for his gun. Dean can feel a hysterical laugh trying to bubble out when Sam brushes his hair out of his eyes, looking annoyed and woozy. Next time, he's getting Sam a headband. Or a scrunchie.

He tries to put a hand out to steady his brother as Sam struggles to his feet. He sees the werewolf move just before Sam does, tries to warn his brother, but thankfully Sam's reflexes are quick enough he's ducking and swinging a fist out just in time to clip the werewolf's chin, ringing its bell just enough Sam has time to shoot it.

Dean slides down the wall again, using the moment of reprieve to relax. He pants through his clenched teeth, eyes darting around to make sure the coast is clear.

"Dean!"

Dean waves weakly when Sam rushes over, dropping to his knees and stuffing his gun away so he's got both hands free. He groans when Sam manhandles him upright, hands braced on his shoulders as he looks Dean over, eyes panic-wide when he sees the blood.

"Where's Cas?" Dean asks through gritted teeth. Sam's trying to pull his hand away and Dean swats him away. "'M fine. Where's Cas, dammit?"

Sam looks over his shoulder. "Last I saw him, he was taking out wolf thug number two." Now that Dean's brought it up, he realizes he hasn't seen Cas since. He feels a stab of worry and nearly calls out for him.

"Did you get Sabrina and her witchy friends?" Dean asks, struggling to sit upright.

Before Sam can answer, Cas stumbles into the room, leaning on the doorway for a moment to catch his breath. There's a cut on his forehead bleeding sluggishly into his eyebrow and he's limping but he looks OK otherwise. Sam doesn't miss the way Dean breathes out with relief, even if it makes him wince with pain, gaze firmly on Cas as he limps over. Looking Cas over for injuries even as he grimaces and holds his bleeding side.

Dean tries not to flinch when Cas' eyes narrow and he hurries over, mouth a flat line of pain and annoyance. But mostly annoyance. It's barely tempered by the panic and shit-scared look in his eyes and Dean feels terrible he's worrying Cas when he's hurt too.

"Dean!"

He groans when Cas is in his face, blue eyes dark with concern. Cas' hands hover for a moment, first two fingers extended for a split second before curling in against his palm and his hand fists tightly. He makes a soft sound and covers Cas' hand with his for a moment, feeling terrible Cas sometimes forgets he can't heal anymore. "'M fine," he says again, biting back another sound of pain when Cas starts patting him down.

"What happened? Are you badly hurt?" Castiel asks, hands touching and prodding. Dean groans softly when he presses his chest; probably a cracked or broken rib. He realizes Dean is holding himself. He side-eyes Sam but the younger Winchester just shrugs, expression pinched with concern and exasperation.

If Sam's worried, it's probably bad.

Dean swats Cas' hands away too. He needs to know if they've ganked all these assholes before he can let them all be distracted. He's probably not gonna die but they all might if they let themselves be snuck up on and used as a chew toy.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel says tersely. "Now stop being an assbutt and let me see."

Dean can't help laughing—then hisses when it hurts like a bitch. Cas uses the distraction to wrap a hand around his wrist and pull his hand away. He winces and drops his gaze when Cas glares at him. His hand is hot and sticky, dripping crimson on the faded floor. His shirt is soaked, too. He's lost more blood than he thought and he suddenly feels lightheaded.

"Sam."

Sam looks over at Cas when he hears the carefully calm tone. He looks to Dean and his mouth drops open.

"Shit, that looks pretty serious," he says, leaning in. Judging by the tear in Dean's shirt, it's deep enough for antibiotics and he'll need stitches. A lot of stitches; enough to bypass his attempts at first aid and means hospital. He can see Dean gearing up for an argument, even though he's pale and sweaty.

Sam turns to Cas, shamelessly using his influence on Dean to their advantage. "He's gotta go to the ER for this, man." He tries to ignore the pained look that crosses Cas' face, but lays a comforting hand on Cas' shoulder. He knows Cas doesn't always miss his mojo—but times like these, he can practically feel Cas' anguish that he can't heal with a touch any more.

"No freakin' way," Dean grumbles and tries to get his feet under him. He flops weakly, gritting his teeth. Sam reaches towards him again but goes for his pocket instead. It takes a moment for him to realize, hears the familiar jangle of his keys as Sam pockets them himself. "Hey!"

Cas is in his face again, his expression pissy and no nonsense. And Dean slumps with defeat. One or the other he could argue against, but not both of the little fuckers. He doesn't bother protesting when Cas makes to grab him again, hands strong but gentle as he gets a firm grip under his armpit. Sam flanks him and they manage to get him upright and on his feet. He sways a little, but Cas slides an arm around his waist and steadies him.

"We'll come back to clean up," Sam says absently, letting Cas take the brunt of Dean's weight when Dean leans against him without complaining. He figures Cas has Dean securely and hurries ahead to get the car.

And maybe to give them a moment alone. He's come to recognize when they need to have their post hunt talks, knows when Cas' fingers dig into Dean like that he should make himself scarce if he doesn't wanna see kissing or risk Dean being an emotionally constipated idiot because he's there to make him self-conscious instead of giving Cas the assurances he needs.

He gathers the dropped weapons on the way out, grimacing as he steps over a body. He hates witches; it's too close to killing humans to ever sit right with him. But when they use their dark magicks to hurt and kill people, he can't just let it happen.

Sam peeks over his shoulder to make sure Cas is doing OK and quickly turns around again, picking up his pace when he sees them in an... intimate moment. He doesn't know how Dean can think of sucking face at a time like this, but at least Cas looks less freaked out.

By the time he's pulling up in front of the abandoned house, Cas is half-dragging Dean down the steps. He hops out and helps them, stuffing Dean in the backseat. He grabs a spare towel from the trunk and hands it to Cas just as he climbs in next to Dean. Sam nearly rolls his eyes when Dean paws at Cas' side until he's got his head pillowed on Cas' lap. There's a brief wince as Cas presses the clean towel to his side, but Dean relaxes and looks deceptively smug when Cas starts running fingers through his hair.

"Ten minutes, Dean," he says once he's behind the wheel again and he steps on the gas.

Dean just grunts in answer, comfortable enough with Cas fussing over him, probably trying to distract him from the hot throb of pain that's starting to spread out to all over. Cas prods his ribs and he hisses, turning his face a little to stifle it in Cas' stomach.

They hit a bump and Cas' arms wrap around him as Sam mutters a 'Sorry' from the front. Dean can tell he's white-knuckling the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight. He wants to tell his maniac brother to slow the hell down, be careful so they don't wreck and he gets them all killed, but he'd be just as frantic if it were Sam or Cas back here bleeding so he keeps his mouth shut. Another bump jostles the towel Cas is holding and he groans softly, even though Cas makes a soft shushing sound and gently strokes his cheek.

By the time they're screeching to a stop at the ER entrance, he's groggy and everything is gray around the edges. He's vaguely aware of Cas and Sam practically carrying him from the car and bright lights he squints and turns away from, face in Cas' neck. He hears Cas yelling for help, tries to tell Cas to cool it, it's not that bad, and then it's all fuzzy and goes black.

.

Dean hates how bright hospitals are. How funky they smell, astringent and musty at the same time. How noisy they are, machines beeping and whirring, nurse shoes and cart wheels squeaking as they rush through the halls. He's still feeling fuzzy when he opens his eyes, but this time it's from some heavy duty painkillers perking through him.

Sam is passed out in the chair next to the bed, head tilted at a painful angle and resting on his shoulder. He snickers at the puddle of drool. Poor Sammy. He's been there so he doesn't feel too bad for laughing. Movement next to him has him looking the other way, eyes widening a little when he sees Cas squished onto the bed next to him, trenchcoat tossed over him like a blanket. He's close enough to feel the warm weight of him, but Cas managed to be far enough away he's not impeding the IV or other crap strapped to him.

He nudges Cas' shoulder, startling when Cas jerks awake with a gasp, eyes wide and flitting around rapidly. He can't help smiling when Cas finally looks at him and his eyes crinkle with relief and happiness even as he slides out of the bed and gets to his feet. There's a butterfly bandage over the cut above Cas' eyebrow, but otherwise he looks unharmed.

"Morning," Dean says, voice scratchy and throat dry. Cas fumbles for a plastic cup of water and he lets Cas tuck the straw in his mouth, expression serious and brooking no argument. He'd argue he can do it himself, but he's thirsty.

Castiel lowers the cup when Dean leans away, body relaxing into the pillows. He keeps quiet for a long moment, looking Dean over. There's heavy bruising on his face and down his side but his color is better now that he's had the wound cared for and a unit of blood to replace what he lost. He'd let Sam deal with the doctors, staying quiet or nodding when needed to corroborate, as Sam made up a story that wouldn't have cops here in the morning with questions.

Dean sits up a little, wincing at the pull of stitches. There's not much pain though, so he figures he got the good stuff. His chest is tender, too, but overall he's good enough to hit the road any time now. "You snuck in?"

Castiel exhales slowly, braces himself for Dean's reaction as he shakes his head. The nurses were stern and he'd had to think of something...

"I told them we're... um. Family." Dean nods, like that's obvious, and he slowly reaches out, cupping Dean's hand with his own, thumb gently stroking down Dean's ring finger. "I said we're married."

Dean blinks twice and looks down at their hands. OK, not what he was expecting but it's not entirely a lie. Makes sense when the nurses get strict about visitors. They're sorta together so it won't be weird to husband things up until they can skip out.

It explains the slumber party, anyway.

He's sitting in a hospital in his underwear hanging out of drafty pajamas, so probably not the time for a heart-to-heart, but he remembers how freaked out Cas had looked last night. He can't promise it won't happen again, but Sam had a point when he'd said that Dean needs to actually talk, make sure Cas knows some things since they can't really guess what'll happen from day to day.

Castiel leans in to help Dean when he starts to sit up. Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed, moving slow and careful enough Castiel doesn't step in to help. He winces in sympathy at the bruises on Dean's chest and side, touching the area around it lightly. Dean's hand wraps around his wrist and he looks up, ready to apologize.

Dean slides his hand up to Cas' upper arm and tugs him closer, tucking him into the space between his spread legs and sliding a foot behind the back of Cas' legs. He can hear the squeak of shoes and murmuring of nurses, beeps and humming from machines and the lights, but for now they're alone and he wants a kiss dammit. He purses his lips and puckers them comically, wiggling his eyebrows at Cas. Cas moves in willingly, a small little smile, eyes warm and soft as cups Dean's neck and he leans in for a kiss. He hums softly as he sinks into the warmth and affection Cas offers so easily, but he keeps it quick. As tempting as it is to get carried away, they still have to sneak out of this place.

Cas still looks tense and wary though and that's just not gonna work. He leans in and ruffles Cas' hair, smiling. "Good idea, Cas. Beats having to be married to Sammy," he says with a snicker, peeking over his shoulder. Sam's mostly awake now, running a hand through his messy hair and yawning.

"Ha ha," Sam deadpans, rubbing his eyes and glaring at Dean. Who's apparently feeling better, enough to be holding hands with Cas and practically snuggling on the tiny hospital bed. "Might wanna tone it down a little there, Dean. The nurse should be in here any minute."

Dean scoffs and flaps a hand at his killjoy brother. He's feeling good and didn't lose any body parts. Cas smiles at him and Dean pulls him closer. Fake-married to Cas works.

Castiel smiles and tries not to think the painkillers are playing a major role in Dean's mood. He carefully backs away from the bed (and a surprisingly handsy Dean) when there's a light, quick knock on the door just before it opens. He gives the nurse a small smile as he sits in the room's other seat. Castiel watches closely as he checks Dean's vitals and bandages, mentions a painkiller prescription for the cracked rib. The IV comes out (and Dean has a moment to be grateful he wasn't out long enough for a catheter). No major issues, Dean will be OK to leave by tomorrow. They all nod along, pleased Dean's injuries aren't serious.

The nurse leaves and Sam gets to his feet. Dean gives him a look and he's already heading out to the car for a change of clothes. Sneaking out of a hospital is easier if your ass isn't hanging out of a hospital gown.


End file.
